


Preclusion

by taskemus (bossy)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Community: hughesathon, Grieving Hughes, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossy/pseuds/taskemus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, lying in bed at night with Maas (tangled up in the sheets together, listening to the German automobiles meandering past outside), Roy can’t help but feel a little bit guilty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preclusion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2006 Hughesathon, for LiveJournal user "burningvigor."
> 
> I refer to Alternate Hughes as "Maas" to distinguish between the two.

Maas smells crisp and pungent (of polish and metal and aftershave), with the hint of soap and pine. It is a scent that had never clung to the Maes who Roy knew, which would have seemed all too foreign on his skin. Yet when Maas’ arms wrap lightly around Roy’s body, and guide Roy's head into his shoulder, Roy catches a whiff of something familiar (of Maes, pure and unadulterated–grinning with his uniform partially unbuttoned, stubble on his cheeks and baby pictures in his pocket) and he draws back, closes his eyes, stops.

Maas frowns gently, reaching a hand up to lazily run through his hair, and doesn’t ask.

“He was my best friend,” Roy says, weeks later, casting him a solemn glance and absentmindedly rubbing his fingers together through his gloves. “Brigadier General Maes Hughes.”

Maas looks at him and nods once, sharply; he had found the photograph in Roy’s shirt pocket ages ago.

“That’s all,” Roy continues, because it’s true. They had been friends, Maes and Roy, and though of course Roy wishes that he had not died (slumped over in that red telephone booth, face speckled with blood), Maas is everything but his replacement.

Maas is somebody completely different–-and Maes had been only his friend, nothing more.

–

Sometimes, lying in bed at night with Maas (tangled up in the sheets together, listening to the German automobiles meandering past outside), Roy can’t help but feel a little bit guilty.

He’d known. Of course he’d known–-ever since Edward brought back the picture of that boy who looked oddly like Alphonse, the idea had planted itself in his mind, and really, that’s why he’s here.

To find Maes, whatever traces of him might possibly be left.

–

It had been like crossing into the realm of the dead. Two deep, distrusting, brown-gold eyes, from a face that he knew all too well but that was strangely–somehow–different, lacking the familiar warmth of Hughes’. A man in a black uniform standing unrelentingly straight and tall (not slouching, not grinning, very little stubble on his face), the line of his back unbroken, and Roy could not deny the sinking feeling in his stomach.

This was not Maes.

Not Maes, but someone else entirely, someone so easily captivated by the intricate red arrays on his gloves, a hint of surprise and weakness showing for just a second on his face. And one rainy Thursday afternoon, Maas had taken off his hat and they had stepped inside a coffee shop to discuss Edward Elric.

It has been raining a little bit in Munich ever since, water dripping down off the rooftops ( _patterpatpatterpat_ ) in a nearly silent, comforting rhythm that perfectly mirrors the sullen greyness of the city.

The sun is shining when Maas leaves for work in the morning, half-slams the door behind him.

Roy reaches over and closes the curtains.

–

Maas is absolutely fascinated by his gloves -– Roy has tried to pack them away in his suitcase countless times, but Maas will not hear of it.

“Alchemy was nothing,” Roy tells him, while they are walking home in the evening, “Alchemy was a fluke. That's all.”

He keeps his eyes on the red and yellow buildings to his left, slowly fading to shades of grey as the sun sets. He is glad for the ornate domes rising above them, and the blurry white-blue mountains clinging to the skyline much further beyond them, because no matter where he looks he cannot deny that this is not the place he was born.

He is not in Amestris, and most of all he is not standing beside a man named Maes Hughes.

He casts his gaze on his companion's eyes, dark instead of light, but Maas does not stop examining the backs of his hands.

"So you used to be able to make fire with these things, eh?" There is a certain inflection in his voice that reminds Roy of a wrinkled, purple shirt, carefree grins, too-bright skies, and Elysia skipping along by his side, and it is not until he sees Maas watching him questionably that he notices he has balled his hand into a fist.

"Yes," he replies shortly, pulling down the sleeve of the brown jacket he is borrowing from Maas so that it covers up the arrays. There is a shiver of cold in the air, an unexpected burst of wind forming goose bumps on his skin, and he quickens his pace.

"No, no, not this way," Maas says, suddenly, and the trace of anxiety in his voice makes Roy spin around. He licks his lips once and turns to look back around over his shoulder.

The street is totally deserted, save for a skinny, straggly stray cat prowling near the gutter. And then Roy sees the blonde woman peering out hopefully from the window of the inn, and understands.

They take the long way home.

–

Maas' apartment is sparsely furnished–-even as a high-ranking police officer, he doesn't earn that much money-–and Roy himself has seen how high the prices are here, even for just enough food for one meal. But the place is clean, at least-–Roy sees how hard Maas tries to make sure of that–-and, truthfully, he likes it better like this, empty, devoid of life and warmth. 

He is hanging his jacket up in the closet (he would normally throw it over one of the chairs, but Maas is so neat that he is beginning to feel awkward about things like that) when his companion turns and looks at him, closing the door with a faint click. There is one brief moment of darkness and silence and nothingness. Then he feels Maas' hot breath on his cheek, and it begins.

Fierce, hazy eyes stabbing into his and then a touch to his lips that is not tentative at all. Maes would never have kissed him like this, so strongly, pinning him back against the wall (Maes would never have even kissed his cheek, for heaven's sake).

Maas runs one of his hands down Roy's chest. The scent of aftershave and metal is nearly overpowering, and Roy leans in to lick at the skin below Maas' earlobe. For a moment, everything disappears again, blends into shades of dark grey and Maas' hand on his thigh and the detached rumbling of car engines bleeding in from outside. 

Then his stomach growls and Maas pulls back with a slight chuckle. "You're hungry."

Roy has to admit that right now the prospect of dinner does not sound that bad. Predictably, there is not much inside of Maas' cupboards, although considering that, they have been able to make do pretty well. But Roy has not even been able to find work here, and it doesn't seem right to take something that does not belong to him.

"Not yet," he replies, knowing very well Maas will forget about the matter if he doesn't bring it up again. The man, unlike Maes, does not seem to have much of an appetite at all. "We'll eat later."

Maas nods. The rain has subsided long ago and Roy's ears ring for lack of sound.

"There was a little girl," Maas says, a bit later, opening the shades and letting a small amount of dim, waning light through. He flicks his eyes over Roy's face for a minute, as though he knows he is wandering into forbidden territory. "In the photograph."

A long, silken pause. Maas doesn't move from the window, darkness from outside flooding into the barren room and settling over his form. Half of his face is shadowed so strongly that Roy can barely make out any of his features.

"She doesn't have anything to do with us," Roy says, finally.

Maas lifts his gaze from the empty street below, and nods once.

–

Maas doesn't like Roy to visit him while he is on duty, but Roy notices the subtle way in which the corners of his mouth turn up when he appears, this time, sauntering in without warning.

"Don't you have anywhere else to be?" Maas asks, almost lazily, while still standing so rigidly tall. His eyes keep flicking suspiciously to a group of rowdy young men on the other side of the street. "I thought you were going to search for Edward Elric and his brother."

Roy shakes his head. "Nobody's heard from them in months. For all I know, they're back on the other side of the Gate."

Maas shrugs, eyes tense. "Look, I have a job to do, you know. Maybe you should come back later."

But Roy notices that Maas' gaze has drifted away from the troublemakers across the road, and instead is fixated on him.

He decides that it is all right to take a day off to do nothing, every once in a while.

–

Finally, Maas takes him to see Noa. Roy knocks three times on the old mahogany door, and it is a while before it creaks open, four cars making their ways past outside. Maas stands awkwardly on the far edge of the doorstep, with his chin held high.

"You'd be Noa," Roy says, as the girl blinks up at him (face blank at first, and then expression swiftly transforming to one of faint bittersweet comprehension). "I've come to speak to you about Edward."

"Come inside," she says softly, casting a worried glance at Maas, whom remains on the doorstep, frowning mildly.

"Be careful, Roy," he warns, voice a bit lower than usual, and adjusts his hat. "I'll be right here if you need me."

Noa tells him about Edward and rockets and a secret society–-and Maas stands right there the entire time, and watches.

–

"She wasn't going to hurt me," Roy says, as soon as Noa is out of earshot. The sun is beginning to set and he can slightly smell smoke.

"Maybe not this time, Roy, but I still don't know why you went inside," he says, shaking his head.

He casts Roy a stony look that says he is very capable of saying more, and will if needs be.

It has gotten warmer and the long brown coat which Maas lent him is laying discarded in the top drawer of Maas' closet. Roy is wearing one of his old white button-down shirts, instead.

The drifting, light sky reminds him of Amestris.

"Look," Roy says, on impulse, stopping beside a wrought-iron fence and pulling the photograph out of his shirt pocket. "Her name is Gracia."

He looks down at the picture of Maes Hughes, who is smiling, with his arm around his wife, and his daughter standing between them.

Maas has been scuffing his feet as he walks and the noise stops completely. The other man leans back a little on the fence and the corners of his lips turn down--the sound of an automobile drifting past, indistinct, and the light flickers, dims, stretches away.

"Roy," Maas begins, catching his gaze, "Just what are you trying to say?"

But Roy turns away, and doesn't talk any more. 

–

The sun hasn't come up yet and his limbs and joints ache from lack of sleep–-Maas' house is just as tidy as it was when he came, every bit of him removed–and Roy is halfway out the door when he reconsiders leaving without a word.

The phone had clicked before he knew what was happening and then Maes had not existed any longer, and he had never really had a chance to say goodbye. Flowers left on the grave of a man who deserved so much more–-who would not have wanted to ruin his best friend's life.

Roy opens the door and steps back inside for a moment.

"Maas," he says softly, and Maas looks up groggily from where he lays in bed, rubbing at one of his eyes in annoyance.

"I'm going home," Roy says.

–

Roy Mustang does not have the right to take something that does not belong to him, that was never his to begin with.


End file.
